


collected?

by DictionaryWrites



Series: The Dashing Collected [1]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Power Dynamics, Slave Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 14:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15341883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Fandral wakes up on Knowhere.Taneleer Tivan isn't as reasonable as he would like.





	collected?

Fandral is a little hazy, and he sits still on the examination table with his legs loosely crossed beneath him. Around him, there is a laboratory, clean and well-kept, clinical: on the walls, in neatly sectioned glass cabinets, he sees a hundred thousand stamps. He strains his eyes, leaning forward to look at each and every one - so  _adorable_. 

Fandral likes stamps. Many planets have some variation of them, but not Asgard - they’ve always had ravens instead, always sent their missives in a more…  _Manual_  fashion. 

“Are you conscious?” says a voice, low and deep, and Fandral glances in its direction. The voice has a  _bored_  quality, but the man it belongs to is anything but boring: Fandral’s lips part as he takes him in, takes in the pale skin and the lovely white hair, the black kohl about the eyes and on the chin–

Fandral beams.

“You’re Taneleer Tivan. The Collector.” Tivan pauses, bringing a black-gloved hand up to his mouth, and he narrows his eyes slightly, looking at him critically. “My name is Fandral, son of Alvis - I hail from Asgard, our peoples–”

“Hush,” Tivan says, and Fandral does, closing his mouth. His most recent memories are– in the wind. Fandral is a little confused, a little dazed, and he vaguely recalls a party on Asgard, recalls that Loki had been revealed, but then– What then? He frowns, furrowing his brow slightly, and Tivan’s fingers touch his chin.

Immediately, Fandral reciprocates, putting a hand on Tivan’s surprisingly muscular chest, and Tivan’s dark eyes widen slightly, staring down at the hand. “No one ever said you were  _handsome_ ,” Fandral murmurs, his lips quirking into a grin. “I knew about the stripe on the chin, the white hair, the  _fur_ – No one said you were attractive. And that voice, so charming!”

“I am trying to examine you,” Tivan says bluntly. 

“Ditto,” Fandral says. Tivan scowls at him, and Fandral laughs softly, slowly drawing his hand back and setting it in his lap. “Alright, darling. You go first - I’ll go second.”

“That isn’t what’s happening here.”

“Isn’t it?”

“ _No_.” Fandral retains a small smile, and he lifts his head up as Tivan’s fingers move up to feel under his jaw, palpating the flesh beneath - feeling for lymph nodes, no doubt. “A merchant sold you to me… Found you cast out in to space. Do you recall how you got there?”

“No,” Fandral answers. “How much did I cost?”

“You don’t seem deterred by the situation.” Fandral shrugs his shoulders delicately, and he looks forward as Tivan presses his thumb and forefinger against one of Fandral’s eyes, pushing his eyelids a little further open so that he can examine Fandral’s eye. “Most would be upset, angry. Perhaps even frightened.”

“I’m not like most,” Fandral promises, his voice as sultry as possible.  _This_  seems to give Tivan pause, and his plump lips quirk up at their edges, his head tilting slightly to the side. 

“No…” Tivan agrees softly. “You aren’t. You know, there aren’t many AEsir out there, on this side of the galaxy. I’ve always wanted one.”

“Well,” Fandral purrs. “Here I am.” Tivan  _smiles_. It’s beautiful, breathtaking, gorgeous - Fandral can’t remember much, but he knows what  _handsome_  looks like. 

“Here you are,” Tivan agrees.

—

Later, Fandral lies on the floor of his containment unit, his arms crossed over his chest, his legs crossed over one another, and his heels resting against the glass. 

“I don’t know what you expected,” Tivan murmurs from the outside, looking in at him with evident amusement. He looks rather pleased with himself, but Fandral will not give him the satisfaction, and instead he focuses on his nails, which will soon need trimming.

“Oh, you’ll let me out, darling,” Fandral promises, his tone casual. The fear bubbles in his belly like a distant rumble of thunder, and he will not give it too much attention. “I’ll… just have to  _convince_  you.” Tivan lets out a low bark of laughter, and then he walks away.

But he  _will_ , in the end. 

Fandral has his ways. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided this is the ship I shall drown on. Am I the only one thinking of it? Yes. Yes, I probably am. Expect more of this ship, though.
> 
> [Hit me up on Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


End file.
